Swords at Dawn
by SaraiofUmardelin
Summary: A short side-story set in the same 'verse as Draw Your Swords and My Kingdom as Great. You should really read Draw Your Swords first. Enjoy!


Sarah and Jareth were in one another's faces, neither backing down, each convinced that _their_ argument was the only valid one. It had gone on for nearly an hour now, up and down several darkened corridors, through the audience chamber (startling poor Mathilda), and into the throne room. Neither would yield the slightest, neither willing to concede their position. His eyes clouded with storms while hers burned bright with anger; he raised his voice so that all the goblins fled, and she raised it just as high, poked him rudely in the chest.

"Fine! Fine, be an irrepressible birdbrain! " she shouted at last in disgust, throwing her hands in the air. "If you're going to be an obstinate ass about this, so be it. Two can play at that game; tit for tat. We'll settle this the old-fashioned way, Your Majesty! _Swords at dawn!_ "

Jareth leered at her despite his fury. "There is only one sword I wish to draw in your presence, Sarah, and you have no blade to match it – only the sheath that fits it so perfectly."

"Get your brain out of your pants, Goblin King," she snapped, her gaze sharp as a knife's-edge. "It's not going to work this time, Jareth. I mean it; you, me, in the Queen's Park, at first light. I'll have Didymus find me a rapier and we'll see who's up to the challenge. I win; you concede and I don't hear another word about this. No take-backs."

"I'll take that challenge," he said at last, thoughtfully. "Choose your second. Swords at dawn it shall be."

They both stormed away to their separate quarters, or so Sarah thought. There was a burst of wild magic out in the Forest that night, bright enough to light up her window. Any other night she would've worried about Jareth. Tonight, she muttered about him venting his spleen like an angry toddler.

…

Dawn was cold and misty. The wise man agreed to referee the duel. Sir Didymus, of course, had agreed to be Sarah's second, and Hoggle found himself pressed into service as Jareth's. That had Sarah smirking already; it figured that he had to drag her friends into this. No surprise there. The dwarf looked across the lawn at her with a philosophical shrug, but she couldn't hold it against him. It was hardly his fault, and Jareth had of course ordered him.

They were using blunt-tipped fencing foils – made of copper, not steel – and both of them wore light helms to protect their faces. Sarah and Jareth met in the center of the field, raised their swords, and turned back to back to count off ten paces. They turned and bowed to each other, and Jareth settled into a classic fencer's pose, left hand on his hip, foil extended toward her.

"Attack!" called the wise man, and Sarah lunged forward with a will. Jareth, arrogant bastard that he was, just held still with a faint smile on his lips, watching her come. Did he really think she would just _stop_? Or did he think she wouldn't really hit him, would falter at the last second?

Fat chance! Their heads were protected, and these foils wouldn't harm them in a body blow. Just to spite him, Sarah put an extra effort into her last leaping step, and brought the foil down with a savage cry.

It split straight through Jareth – or rather, the image of Jareth. The _illusion_ of Jareth. Which disappeared as she struck. In the half-second of surprise before outrage bloomed, Sarah could only stare, and it was then that the _real_ Jareth struck. He had sidled around to be behind her when she struck at his image, and now his foil smacked across the back of her riding breeches crisply. "I win, pretty," he said matter-of-factly, slipping the helm off.

Heat rushed up her cheeks and down into her chest. Sneaky, conniving, under-handed complete and utter damned _fae_! Murder in her green eyes, Sarah rounded on him in a mightier fury than their argument last night, slashing at him with her own foil. "I knew it! I knew! You miserable slimy no-good dirty rotten cheating _bastard!_ " she roared, as Jareth threw his arm up to protect his face against her flurry of incensed blows. "How dare you! _How_ _ **dare**_ _you!_ You stinking snaky _ass_!"

"Ow! Sarah, stop this! I am _fae_ , did you not realize I would – _ow!_ Damn you, woman, stop that!"

"Hell no! You _earned_ this! I expected better from you!" she snarled, whaling on him. The foil couldn't do any real damage, but it had to sting like hell. And at the moment, Sarah was fine with that.

" _Hoggle!_ " Jareth bellowed. "You are my second! Do – _ow!_ – do something with your friend before she – _damnation!_ – actually does some harm here! _Ow!_ This is _treason_ , you hotheaded wench!"

" _Wench_?!" Sarah roared, taking his momentary distraction to kick his instep and land another round of blows. "You obnoxious ass, I. Am. _Queen._ Here! This isn't treason, it's damned _war_!" Technically, she hadn't yet been crowned, but that was coming. Umardelin had claimed her; the crown was a mere formality.

Hoggle looked from one to the other, shuffled his feet, and said reluctantly, "Hey, uh, Sarah, knock it off. Y'know."

Jareth finally lost his temper and seized Sarah's wrist, twisting it until she was forced to drop the foil. "Ouch, you cheating fuck! Let me go, damn you!" she spat, and the obscenity sent her friends reeling back a step. It was rare that she got into this level of a froth in front of them, but she was ready to throttle him. Only Didymus rallied forward. "I say, Sire!" he protested.

Jareth simply heaved Sarah over his shoulder, ignoring her kicks and further scathing words. Oh, yes, she was in a fine temper now. "Confine yourself to matters martial, not marital, sir knight," he said sternly, and when Didymus still bristled, Jareth sighed. "It's not as if I would _harm_ her, though she – " he grunted as her elbow caught his cheek "– clearly has no such compunctions toward me."

With that, he stomped one foot, and the grassy lawn vanished, replaced by his bedroom, where he promptly and unceremoniously dumped her onto the bed. She bounced back to her feet, livid at both his cheating and the manhandling, and Jareth spoke some word that froze her in place with a burst of opalescent magic.

Her vision blazed golden as her own magic rose, but Jareth stepped close and spoke firmly. "Enough! Do you not realize I cheated to spare your ego? Still your fierce heart, Sarah, and let the _mind_ as canny as mine see the truth!"

"The truth?" she growled, but that golden haze was clearing, if for no other reason than the sheer audacity of his claim. "And what _is_ the truth, Jareth?"

"I am two centuries your senior and have wielded a blade for most of them," he retorted. "In a fair fight, there is no possible way you could win. If I cheated, I preserve the illusion that you _might_ have won in said fair fight. You see?"

That did nothing to soothe her temper, Sarah reaching back to grab a pillow and fling it at him. "The _illusion_ that I _might_ have won? You presumptive ass! I seemed to be doing just fine there before you snatched me up like a Neanderthal!"

Jareth deflected the pillow and glared at her. "You were drubbing me with the sword because I allowed you to. If I had not–" He had to dodge another pillow, and finally snapped out a word that set the air to shimmering and left Sarah suspended in midair. "As I was saying. Had I chosen to fight back, you would not have been able to strike me. Now please, let us _discuss_ this in a civil fashion? It pains me to admit, but your position has more merit than I thought."

The first half-dozen or so responses that came to Sarah's mind, she opted not to speak aloud. Jareth would have a decent idea just from watching her face. At last, and very flatly, she said, "Why didn't you mention me being right _before_ the duel?"

"Because I did not realize it until after we had already agreed to duel. And our friends and subjects would expect no less of us than to duel at sunrise over such a point. What was said was said, at that juncture." He cocked his head at her, birdlike, and held out his hand. "Truce?"

Her eyes narrowed with anger and mistrust. "Did I mention that I hate you and that you are an arrogant dirty cheat of the highest degree? And I have no idea why I put up with you? And no, it's not just the sex, because I wouldn't put up with anyone for just that. I don't care how amazing it is."

"I am a fae king, Sarah, and I rule goblins. I must win at any cost, or die. As for why you put up with me – occasionally, I'm right. And I am the only man you know, other than blood relatives, who doesn't fear you."

"I really think you overestimate that," she growled.

Jareth only shrugged one shoulder. "Sarah, Sarah. Your will is as strong as mine, and your kingdom as great, remember? Mortal men cannot hope to match you as equals. I'm afraid, precious, that you are stuck with someone whose stubbornness reflects your own." Again, he offered his hand, raising an eyebrow hopefully.

Sarah sighed out her irritation and shook with him, spearing him with a look and grin that was full of bad intentions. "Truce. But I'll be spending some time with Didymus, and whoever else around here knows how to wield a sword. _Next_ time we duel, Your Majesty, you had best be on your guard. I'm not the Champion for nothing."

"Consider me forewarned," he told her. "The fox-knight is an excellent swordsman, and I shall arrange for additional lessons as needed. The more weapons, magical and mundane, you have to defend yourself, the better. I would not have chosen swords so soon, but if you are determined–"

Her chin lifted. "I am."

"Then of course I support you," Jareth finished.

"Good," she replied. "I'll deal with you and resolving this issue later. Right now, I'm going to get Didymus to show me how to kick your ass." He could only shake his head with a smile as she spun on her heel, cut him a triumphant grin over her shoulder, and stalked out of the bedroom.


End file.
